


Don't Let Them See You Cry

by Aurelyn



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Angst and Humor, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, Maybe a little more than canon-typical violence, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mood Swings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Time Travel, just a smidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelyn/pseuds/Aurelyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kurosaki-kun..?”<br/>“Yeah, Geta-boushi?”<br/>“What…what happened to you…”<br/>“I didn’t like the future so much, Kisuke. Very lonely, awfully quiet. Rather boring, in my not so humble opinion. So I came back.”<br/>“How?”<br/>“Dunno, you’d have to ask Shiro or Zangetsu.”<br/>“Are you alright, Ichigo-kun?” </p>
<p>The time traveller stopped and thought for a moment, before shrugging as though the answer was of little consequence. </p>
<p>“Hmmm. Probably not.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not as Sane as You Think I Am

**Author's Note:**

> Yo 
> 
> I don't really know where I'm going with this i.e. it'll either go into plot-land of meander over to feels-ville. Either way, it should last for as long as my creativity does. Don't like, don't read. Any comments concerning tags, character development, plot, etc. are and always will be welcome. If it's simply 'I don't like this' with no substance behind it then I don't care so don't bother. I'm not going to put up warnings in front of every chapter. It will most likely be graphic, no there will be no sex. Updates will be sporadic at best (probably, anyways). Have fun and have a nice day/night :)

“Kurosaki-kun..?”  
“Yeah, Geta-boushi?”  
“What…what happened to you…”  
“Aizen happened, the cross-dressing butterfly freak.”  
“But-”  
“I didn’t like the future so much, Kisuke. Very lonely, awfully quiet. Rather boring, in my not so humble opinion. So I came back.”  
“How?”  
“Dunno, you’d have to ask Shiro or Zangetsu.”  
“Last time I checked, Kurosaki-kun, neither your hollow nor your zanpakuto have abilities that influence the space-time continuum.”  
“Maa, call me Ichigo please, it’s been years since you called me ‘Kurosaki-kun’, it makes me feel old~” 

The blonde shopkeeper looked at his –former? –charge with something between shock and concern.  
“Are you alright, Ku-Ichigo-kun?” 

The time traveller stopped and thought for a moment, before shrugging as though the answer was of little consequence. 

“Hmmm. Probably not.” 

Kisuke sweatdropped. Apparently, he was dealing with an older, mentally unstable version of his student. At least he seemed to be relatively harmless. 

Ichigo looked across at the familiar face. For a brief moment, all he could see was the same face, burned and bloodied with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks and tongue ripped out. He attacked the memory, viciously locking it away. After all, it wouldn’t do to let Kisuke know just how fucked up his head was. Ichigo knew he couldn’t pass himself off as 100% sane; better for him to be labelled as slightly childish with a short attention span than severely depressed with a violent temper and non-existent control. 

If he hadn’t come to an agreement with Shiro at the beginning of the war, the hollow would have been in charge by now. Currently, the only thing stopping the King being usurped was trust. That and an overly protective zanpakuto. That helps too. 

The orange haired soldier (for that’s what he’d been; a soldier, the soldier) flashed a brilliant grin at his old teacher. His senses, still accustomed to full battle sensitivity, easily picked up on the unease that trickled through the other man’s reiatsu. He broadened his grin, allowing a touch of his madness to flitter through his own reiatsu, there and gone in an instant. Kisuke blanched as Ichigo continued to enjoy a bit of harmless revenge for the so-called ‘training’ he had been subjected to when he was fifteen. Sure, he was twice that age now (at least his soul was; his body was still fifteen and his mental age was a lost cause), but he could hold a grudge just as well as any Visored if he had enough incentive.

And he had plenty. This had the potential to be a very fun night (for Ichigo at least).

———————————————

He couldn’t see.

Everything was red.

He didn’t know if it was blood from some head wound he hadn’t realised he’d even gotten, or if he’d been blinded. Or maybe it was because he was angry. That might be it; maybe he was seeing red. But why would he be angry- 

Karin was strewn about the floor, a leg here and both arms over there. Ichigo didn’t know where her head was. The broken arteries leaked blood, mangled muscle pulled away from the bone. Even if her sister was dead, Yuzu was still alive. Not for much longer though. Some Arrancar’s sword was through her spine and gut, pinning her to the floor in a slowly widening pool of blood. 

She was whimpering and crying, weakly trying to drag herself away from the source of the pain. He was numb. Too much, too many deaths for him to fully comprehend anything anymore. Everything was hazy; he moved without thinking. She wouldn’t survive this on her own, and their healers were too few and too tired to waste any energy on her. Something in him tensed and began to fray. A mercy killing, then. He sensed Goat-Face and Shinji and Yoruichi racing closer. They couldn’t fix this. This was his fault; he was the one that was too late to save them.

No one else was going to do this but him. 

Ichigo pulled the katana from her back and flung it to the corner of the room. The gratitude and immense relief rolled off of her in waves as he gathered Yuzu’s tiny body in his arms. One hand cradled her back while another supported her neck. A tightening of his hand and a sharp jerk and suddenly the little girl he had sworn to protect with his own life was nothing but a limp sack of meat with dull sightless eyes. As the sound of her fragile bones braking echoed in his ears, something inside of him snapped. He couldn’t help the high pitched giggles escaping from his mouth any more than he could stop his reiatsu from fluctuating wildly. 

Someone landed close. A sharp intake of breath, followed by a gut-wrenching moan of agony. Barely a second passed before two more people landed. He felt rather than saw Yoruichi go to his father. Faint murmurs of ‘Isshin’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ and ‘It will get better, I promise’ flowed behind him.  
“Ichigo, are ya ok?” 

The youth didn’t look up as Shinji knelt beside him. Orange hair had fallen forwards, concealing his eyes. The giggles only grew louder. “Ichigo.” Louder still. The conversation behind them ceased. The air grew tense. “It was so easy, Shinji. It took nothing to break her neck. Just a little itty bitty twitch and then,” he dropped the body he’d been cradling and made an exaggerated breaking motion, “snap~. It was so easy, Shinji-san-” 

There was a strangled roar of outrage and the sound of flesh striking flesh. Isshin was too blinded by his own grief to try and reason out his son’s actions. The boy finally looked up. Ichigo could see himself reflected in Shinji’s shocked eyes; his own brown ones were filled with confusion and fear and anguish, lit bright with madness. Tears trickled down his cheeks as the giggles finally broke into something that sounded vaguely like a sob when every horrifying detail of his actions finally broke through the haze. He folded in half, arms wrapped around his midsection as his wail grew to ear piercing volumes. Silently, the former captain reached out and pulled the teen to his chest, gathering him up in his arms before a burst of shunpo took them away from the two tiny corpses and towards the warehouse the Visoreds called home. Ichigo was a part of their rag-tag family, and it was better he avoided what was left of his real one for the moment. He briefly made out the blonde muttering something about children and wars before he sank into unconsciousness to escape the pain of his self hatred– 

–and he woke up with a start to Kisuke shaking him sharply and yelling his name. Acting before his thoughts could catch up or his memories could drag him down, he flung his arms around the shopkeeper’s waist. 

Ichigo pulling him closer and buried his head in the man’s warm, solid chest as his wails slowly turned to pitiful sobs. Distantly, he was aware of the fact that he was making a scene and he knew he’d punish himself for such a blatant show of weakness later. 

But while the nightmare still had its claws in him all he cared about was taking any scrap of comfort he could find. Kisuke’s arms wrapped hesitantly around his back; after a pause they moved in small, soothing circles. 

Two hours and one soaked shirt later, Ichigo had finally calmed down. The teen couldn’t find it in himself to let go of the simple comfort afforded by a warm, living person holding him who wasn’t trying to use him or kill him or torture him or no no no don’t think about that don’t think about that no dontdontdont bad idea BAD IDEABAD – 

His train of thought was abruptly derailed as the arms around him tightened, drawing him closer. Belatedly he became aware of his shaking and hyperventilating and made a conscious effort to get both under control. 

———————————————

Kisuke had been woken up by the sound of strangled screams coming from the room he’d leant Kurosaki-kun, no, Ichigo-kun. He’d shot out of bed, Benihime in one hand as he flung open the screen to the boy’s room. What he saw made him pause.

The orange haired youth was thrashing under the blankets, gasping and making aborted screams as though he was subconsciously trying to be as quiet as he could. Ichigo-kun was clearly in the throes of a nightmare, and not under attack, as he’d first assumed. Here Kisuke hesitated. He had no experience with children (despite his insistence otherwise, to him the boy would still be a child for many more years) and he wasn’t sure if it was the best decision to wake him up. The sounds of distress wrenching their way out of his student made up his mind, and in three strides he was kneeling next to the youth, Benihime to the side but within reach. When gentle shakes and whispers clearly weren’t getting through, the blonde found himself near shouting and shaking Ichigo-kun so violently he was afraid he’d accidentally snap his neck or dislocate his shoulders. Maybe both. 

With a gasp, the child finally woke. Desperation, anguish, fear, self-loathing –the emotions in Ichigo-kun’s eyes were so clearly displayed it hurt to hold his gaze. And then the boy flung himself on Kisuke, arms wrapping around him with such strength that the scientist wondered at the fact he could still breathe. It took longer than it should have to wade through the shock, but once it did he tried his best to awkwardly comfort the boy in his distress. If Ichigo-kun noticed how strange the situation was to him, he didn’t show it. 

When the wetness seeped through his shirt to his chest, the blonde realised that his student, who was so adamant to never show any emotion, was so broken that he was willing to throw everything out the window for a scrap of comfort. Silently, Kisuke vowed to find every person who contributed to breaking his boy and stab them with their own collarbones before gutting them with their ribs. 

After what his body told him to be just shy of two hours in this position, the substitute shinigami was finally calm. Strangely, he was reluctant to let go of him, afraid he’d shatter like glass the moment support was taken away. In the midst of a silent debate with himself (and when had Ichigo-kun become ‘his boy’?), he noticed the boy’s breathing skyrocket as he trembled so violently it was a borderline seizure. Mind made up, he tightened his arms. 

Kisuke stayed like that well past the time the boy calmed down again, and didn’t move when he fell into a dreamless sleep. It was probably the first one he’d had in months, if not years, judging by Ichigo-kun’s mental state, Kisuke thought bitterly. 

The blonde didn’t move throughout the night, or when the sun rose. 

And when the boy plagued by nightmares finally woke up in the time between the sun’s setting and the moon’s rising, he found himself still encircled in the exile’s arms. Kisuke hadn’t slept once.


	2. Please, Don't Throw Me Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo 
> 
> So yeah, completely unreliable posting schedule, I would be sorry but I'm not. I'm emotionally drained and am considering living my life as a duck. 
> 
> Enjoy

“Ichigo-kun.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Does your younger self still exist in this timeline?”  
“…No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’m in his body, right? Well, mine. It’s mine now. Technically it was before as I’m still him and yet not really, but it’s still me. Just a different version of me. Or him. Maybe? I’m not the scientist here, Geta-boushi.”  
“I see, I see. So how old are you really, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

The orange-haired shinigami sprawled boneless on the floor, waving his hand in a lazy, if dismissive, gesture.  
“Maa, I don’t mind. Round thirty, I think. It’s a pretty rough guess; I lost track after twenty-three.”  
Surprisingly, the silence that stretched out between the two managed to avoid being awkward. It was comforting, a sentiment reflected by both sides. Kisuke knew better than to push, and Ichigo knew his limits well enough to avoid filling the silence.  
“I see.” 

And that was that. 

“Ichigo-kun.”  
“Wha’up?” 

Kisuke snorted in amusement at his charge and his blatant disrespect for grammar. Ichigo was curled in a sleepy ball by his side, head pillowed on his thigh and long orange hair spilling into his lap. The shopkeeper carded his fingers through the strands, grey eyes flicking over the now familiar web of scars visible beneath the collar of his boy’s shirt. 

After that first night, Kisuke had forsaken any and all attachment he had to his personal space. He refused to let Ichigo sleep on his own. The blond made it perfectly clear that he didn’t give two shits about when Ichigo chose to sleep. If his charge wanted to sleep at night, it was to be within an arm’s reach of wherever the shopkeeper was sleeping. If he wanted to sleep during the day, he was to be next to Kisuke. Until he believed Ichigo’s mental trauma to be healed to a non-threatening level, everything was second to his safety. Physical and mental. And the substitute sleeping on his own? Was not meeting these requirements. He’d finally given up trying to convince himself that it was a manifestation of his self-preservation instinct: keep the powerful deranged swordsman as stable as possible. No. This was Kisuke’s ‘mother hen-ing’, as Yoruichi put it. 

“I was thinking-”  
“I hope so, Geta-boushi. The day you aren’t is the day the world ends.”  
A pillow whistled through the air, thwacking the back of an orange head in retribution. Since the first week, Kisuke had discarded his fan, so the small smirk was visible to the little troublemaker.  
“Brat. Don’t you dare start with me.”  
“Yes, Ki-kun.”  
Another thwack, this time accompanied by a groan.  
“I’ll kill Yoruichi for telling you that.”  
“Well,” the boy mused, finger tapping his lips, “technically,” he stressed the word, “she hasn’t actually told me yet. Sooooooo…..” Ichigo trailed off, hopeful excitement in his eyes. No. He was not falling for this again. Kisuke was an exiled captain. He was immune to puppy-dog eyes. 

One box of chocolate, a pillow fight, and two cups of sake later, the blond finally managed to return to the conversation. This time, Ichigo had somehow managed to sprawl across his lap while reading a book and still disguise the fact that it must be highly uncomfortable. 

“Ichigo, do you want to bring your father into this?”  
He felt the slight tightening of shoulders, and reconsidered what he was going to say. He had to proceed with caution.  
“I imagine Isshin will be beginning to worry, since you don’t usually take off for this long without leaving some sort of message.” The tension was still there, but he hadn’t been attacked yet, so Kisuke threw caution to the wind and tossed in a low blow. He winced internally, begging Ichigo to forgive him.  
“Your sisters must be beside themselves.” 

That got a reaction. His boy froze, every muscle seized up in what must have been painful pressure for under a second. The next thing he knew, Ichigo bolted for the door. Stopped before even taking two steps. Began to pace violently. Halted. Began to pace again, picking up speed until it was bordering on a slow shunpo. Wrapped fingers in his waist length hair and pulled in time with his steps, each more forceful than the last. Stopped. Gave a strangled half cry, one hand wrapping around his throat while the other snaked around his chest. 

Kisuke stayed perfectly still, only moving when the hand Ichigo had around his neck tightened enough to impede his breathing. One hand gently tugged until the substitute let go, the other wrapped around the boy. Still silent, the blond began murmuring in a soothing tone while rocking the boy back and forth. Ichigo made a soft whine and his knees gave out. Supporting all of his student’s weight, Kisuke lowered him gently to the floor and cradled him through his inner turmoil. Three hours later, Ichigo agreed to meet with his father in the training grounds if Kisuke was there. 

Two days after that, a call was made to the Kurosaki household. 

“Kisuke, hey, I was gonna call you soon! D’you know where Ichigo-”  
“He’s been here at the shop for the past fortnight, with me. He’s safe.”  
“Oh, well that’s good then. He hasn’t gotten himself killed-”  
“I think you need to come over. As soon as possible. Now, preferably. Don’t bring your daughters.”  
“Kisuke, what’s this all about?”  
“…”  
“Kisuke?”  
“I’m not having this discussion with you over the phone.”  
“What? Kisuke, what’s going-”  
“Caller has disconnected.” 

Isshin wandered into the Urahara Shouten, feeling slightly apprehensive, but mostly curious. Ichigo wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t severely injured, so what could possibly be wrong? He pondered the question, finally deciding that his son’s manners, or rather their absence, had finally broken his friend. That must be it. After all, it wasn’t like his son was having something as ridiculous as a mental breakdown. The former captain called out into the empty shop. He noticed a book left on the kitchen counter, a tea set forgotten about just outside of Kisuke’s lab. Curiosity growing, Isshin made his way to the underground training facilities. After all, that’s where Kisuke would be throwing his son around, wouldn’t it? What he saw, when he finally made it to the ground, made him freeze in his tracks. That was Ichigo. 

But that wasn’t his son.

Ichigo looked at Goat Face. It had been years since he’d last seen Isshin; they hadn’t spoken after the last time the old man had failed to kill him for what happened to Karin and Yuzu. After all, it was clearly his traumatised son who’d been thrown into a war at fifteen that had been responsible for them falling under Aizen’s attention. Not the fucking liar, Shiba-taicho, who’d thrown Ichigo into EVERYTHING without even asking if he’d wanted to do it first. No, it wasn’t his fault at all. 

Clearly. 

He tried to rein in his anger, carful to let his reiatsu do nothing more than pulse. He recognised the disconnect in Isshin- for he hadn’t been his father in a long time. He was looking at Ichigo, seeing him there, and dismissing everything that he was. Because Ichigo wasn’t fucking perfect enough for him, so he didn’t matter. He knew what he looked like. Long orange hair like a tattered banner swirling around him, always moving and never still. The steel in his eyes that had long ago stopped being molten (the steel was cold now; frozen, verging on brittle). The latticework of pale scars dancing across his neck, his chest, his arms and legs and hands and feet and jaw; he remembers the story behind each and every one of those. 

Some were torture (Aizen was creative, but he had nothing on the free reign Central 46 gave to their little minions. Aizen had at least wanted him kept alive). Others were recognition; a parting gift (his favourites were the ones Ulquiorra left on his face; for someone who’d claimed to have no comprehension of human emotions, he’d been pretty set on making sure Ichigo’d never forget him). Others simply came from fatigue in battle, or even some of the damage the Fourth had to do to keep him alive. 

Seeing that liar standing there, belittling his sacrifices; that was too much. He didn’t move, didn’t tense a muscle. Slowly, Ichigo unfurled his reiatsu, letting his anger pulse and thrum as his awareness slowly expanded. Isshin took a half step back. Good, Ichigo thought to himself, fear this. Fear what you’ve done, what you’ve made me into. That won’t make me stop. 

He kept on expanding his reiatsu; it crawled along lazily as his anger snapped just beneath the surface, anything but. By now, a little bit of red was winding through the orange-haired teen’s eyes. The more control he ceded, the more his hair moved. A light breeze began to swirl through the training grounds, causing long hair to flutter in an intricate dance. And then the man who wrecked his life spoke. 

“You are Ichigo.”  
It was a statement. There was only one acceptable answer. Luckily it was the truthful one.  
“I am.”  
Ichigo was wary. He loosened his muscles even further; readying for an attack that he knew was coming. The wind picked up, becoming more agitated. It carried a faint whistle. If Ichigo was in a more dramatic mood, he’d be pleased at the sight he made.  
“You are Ichigo. But you are not my son.” 

The words were quiet, but their effect probably would have been lessened if the substitute had them yelled at him. All of a sudden, Ichigo’s reiatsu went through the roof. Figuratively. 

And literally, of course. Nothing Ichigo did was ever done by halves. 

It smashed through the roof of the training ground and straight through the Shouten to become a blazing beacon of black and gold in the sky. Ichigo wasn’t the only one who changed during the war. 

The ground around Ichigo was pulverised under the weight of his reiatsu as it swept through the area as casually as brushing away a fly. Isshin was forced to his knees, partly due to his son’s reiatsu and partly to the gale force winds that whipped through the training grounds. Indeed, they would have been echoed throughout the whole town if the teen hadn’t kept some measure of control. Even so, the skies overhead darkened as thunder threatened an imposing storm. 

All across Seireitei alarms and warnings were going off as units were mobilised. A warning went around, effectively grounding anyone under the rank of fukutaichou. Reports were flying left and right of an immense shinigami reiatsu edged in hollow.  
“Kyouraku-taichou?”  
“Maa, Nanao-chan, what is it?”  
“Wh-What does this mean?”  
“…I don’t know, Nanao-chan. I don’t know.” 

“Oi! Shinji!”  
“Whadda ya want, Hiyori?!”  
“Ya feel that?”  
“Ya idiot, of course I do!”  
“It feels like one of us. Do ya think…?”  
“I know. Wanna help me gut Urahara?”  
“Ya bet.”  
“Get tha others. Tell ‘em we’ve got business over at the Shouten.” 

“Starrk, you notice that crazy-ass reiatsu?”  
“Yeah. So what?”  
“You lazy bastard.” A pause. “It … it feels stronger than us, Starrk.” A breath. “Aizen… Aizen lied to us, didn’t he?”  
“Yeah, kiddo.”  
“Can we go check it out? It’s like us…but not. It might be-might be someone who…who…”  
“You really want this, huh, Lilynette.”  
“Please Starrk.”  
“Will you leave me alone for a week if we do?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then sure. Now let me sleep, brat.”  
“Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you get the same song and dance off of just about every author, but don't forget to leave kudos if you liked and bookmark if you wanna follow. 
> 
> Have a nice day/night, and good luck in your pursuit of fanfiction.
> 
> A/N-terribly sorry for the fact that we're now approaching the TWO YEAR anniversary of the last post, not gonna lie, I have no motivation whatsoever to finish this. I'd gotten a bit into the next chapter, so I'll go dig that up out of wherever, round it off, and then mark this work as complete. When I do that, I'll also edit all the tags so they'll be relevant to what was posted and not the vague outline I had for the story. Also sorry, but I'm not a huge fan of adoption, so unless someone makes a really good argument, this work will be staying as is with me. On the bright side, in the future I think I'll stick to one shots that will be neatly contained within themselves but can be added to if the urge strikes so I don't do this to you poor souls ever again.
> 
> Cheers, Aurelyn
> 
> And I mentioned this over on my Rurouni Kenshin work, but my old writing. So cringe. So no. I'm so sorry I made you go through that in search of a plot you might like.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will probably contain Isshin, a bit of confrontation, most likely feels and Kisuke & Ichigo bonding (I'm going for a sort of father-son-brother-best friend-bond-mix thing between them so yeah) 
> 
> Feel free to comment, critique, bookmark, and kudos are awesome and totally welcome 
> 
> Have a good day/night and happy fanfic hunting! :)


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